The Sky Lord's Mistress
by Margo McKnew
Summary: The story of how Beryl Grace, Thalia Grace's mom, became the attention-seeking actress that won the heart of a god's two aspects. I intend to include how she met and fell in love with Zeus, but right now it's just backstory. PLEASE REVIEW: I'm pretty new at this. Rated T for mild language.
1. Chapter 1

A dark room in a log cabin in Oregon, circa 1965. The smell of blood cuts through the air, along with the wails of a newborn baby. A midwife quietly announces to the young couple, "It's a girl." She gingerly hands the baby to its mother. The baby girl is adorable, with a wisp of blond hair on her head and two shining blue eyes. When the mother looks at her child, all she can think of is the financial strain the baby will cause. After a long pause, she says, "We'll find some way to deal with this." The father rests a hand on his wife's trembling shoulder. "Beryl," he says. "We can name her Beryl Grace, after my mother." The mother shrugs in response. "Sounds fine," she says.

Seven years later, Beryl Grace is at another little girl's house with a clutch of friends from school. Beryl was always at a friend's house, even on Christmas. Anywhere but home. The little girls play dress-up with blankets and stolen makeup kits, squealing with delight as they become princesses, First Ladies, and glamorous movie stars. One of Beryl's friends, Denise, asks "What are you, Beryl? A princess, an actress, or what?"

"Hmm," said the makeup-smeared Beryl. "I don't really know! Why not both?"

"You can't be both, silly," said Denise, tossing a teddy bear at her friend. Denise's mother walked past the open doorway. Beryl ran after her.

"Mrs. Stewart! Mrs. Stewart," yelped the little blond. When the adult stopped and looked at Beryl, the child struck a pose, causing Mrs. Stewart to smile. The woman knelt down to be at eye level with Beryl.

"Can't I be a princess AND an actress, Mrs. Stewart?" Beryl loved talking to her friend's parents. They always made her feel happy inside. Denise and a couple other girls had trotted after Beryl, who was still showcasing her most fabulous famous-person pose.

"Sure, honey," said Mrs. Stewart with a smile. "You can be whatever you want if you've got the guts to achieve it." As the adult walked away, Beryl excitedly turned to her friends and said, grinning, "I'm gonna be famous." Denise and the other girls giggled and dragged Beryl back to the playroom. They played make-believe for hours on end. Soon it was nighttime and Denise's mother was calling up Beryl's mother to ask if Beryl could sleep over. Mrs. Grace agreed, of course. That was one less meal to worry about, one less room to heat with electricity they couldn't afford. As Mrs. Stewart tucked in the girls, she gave Denise a big, warm hug and said "I love you forever and ever, with all my heart, Dee." Then she turned out the light and left the room.

"Denise," whispered Beryl. "Are you sleeping?"

"No," came the reply. "Are you?"

"No. What was that?"

"What do you mean," whispered Denise.

"Why'd your mom hug you like that? She's only going down the hall," said Beryl.

"That's just what we do at bedtime," said Denise.

"Oh. Ok," whispered Beryl. The little blue-eyed girl turned over in her blankets, away from her friend. She sleepily stared into the darkness. Her parents never gave big hugs or said "I love you forever."

At age twelve, Beryl Grace's parents had her working in their shop on the weekends. Technically, she had no free time. She was too busy "earning her keep." Her parents were strict like that. So when Beryl's father sat down across from his daughter's principal, he was embarrassed. He'd had reason to be embarrassed when he found out that Beryl had been attending drama classes, an utterly useless pursuit. But this time was worse. She'd been missing too many classes. She wouldn't obey the dress code. Beryl sat in a corner, almost completely swallowed up by her father's coat. It covered up her shirt, a crop top. She wore her blond hair like Farrah Fawcett, re-doing it every time her mother tried to change it. Beryl was scolded that night. Her parents yelled at her; she yelled back, stomping and throwing ceramics onto the floor. They locked her out for the night. She went to her friend's house, where Denise's older brother let her in.

Four years later, Beryl was in a van with a group of freewheeling 20-something year olds. They were traveling to Los Angeles, where Beryl was to meet a talent agent she'd contacted over the phone. She'd seen commercials for the agency on TV: "Hollywood's always looking for fresh talent! The next big-budget movie star could be you!"

On the morning she'd left, Beryl had stopped by her parent's bedroom. "I've got a new boyfriend," she said. Her mother was sewing a tear on a pillow and didn't even look up. Beryl stood in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe. Her miniskirt was too tight, but she'd still chosen it over a looser one. She waited for a comment from her mother, about her "incessant whoring," her outfit... Anything. Eventually, her mother said, "Another one?"

"Yeah. It's Denise's brother," the teen added.

"Mm," came the absentminded reply.

"He's five years older than me... He's 21," Beryl said.

"Okay," said Mrs. Grace, an irritated bite in her tone. But she still didn't look up.

"I'm only 16, Mom. Doesn't this bother you?"

No response.

Beryl brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. Her tone rose in anger as she said "Don't you care at all? Don't you goddamn CARE about what happens to me?"

Mrs. Grace's eyes flicked up to meet her daughter's gaze for just one moment as she said, "Watch your language, young lady. I won't have such behavior taking place under my roof."

On that day in 1981, Beryl Grace had already packed her bag. After that exchange with her mother, she just grabbed the suitcase and walked out.


	2. Chapter 2

Los Angeles! Beryl Grace launched herself out of the van before it had completely come to a stop in the gas station's parking lot. She stretched her stiff limbs and her hair fluttered in the cool night air. The teen and her friends had been traveling like crazy for more than a week. Finally, Beryl could see the city's glow. After this emergency bathroom break, it was just a few more miles to the city. Just think, past two or three scrubby hills and they'd be standing in the City of Angels! With a crazy smile on her face, the teen ran back to her boyfriend's van, gripped the silver railing on the roof, and hoisted herself up. Beryl crossed her jean-clad legs and ecstatically daydreamed of things to come; the possibilities were endless. She could ditch her friends now and walk the rest of the way. She could stay at this gas station/convenience store for a while; maybe earn some more money of her own. She could run, screaming, in any direction and wave her arms around, because her parents wouldn't shame her for it later.

The blonde's boyfriend walked out of the convenience store. She waved him down and called out to him: "Ricky! Up here!" He saw Beryl and returned her crazy smile. "Hey, babe," said Ricky. He grabbed onto the van and climbed up, making the vehicle sway."You dropped your hat," murmured the young man, bringing a folded felt beret out of his pocket and dusting it off. Leaning over to hand the hat back to Beryl, he kissed the young girl's neck. Beryl smiled at him, thinking ' _This one is so much nicer than the past few_.' She grabbed her hat and quickly kissed Ricky on the lips, avoiding his rough beard. Looking back towards the city's glow, Beryl unfolded her hat. She felt something drop from it and clink onto the roof beneath her. _What was that?_ The teen glanced down at her lap and saw a tiny golden glint of whatever had fallen. She picked up the metal object. Ricky scooted closer to Beryl, wanting to see her reaction.

"Oh," gasped Beryl, holding out the necklace by its gold chain. She looked into Ricky's plain brown eyes with uncertainty, having learned to never assume that an object belonged to her. And yet, Ricky was smiling at her. He gently grasped the necklace and put it over his girlfriend's head. "For my graceful girl," he said. "I picked it up at our last stop. I know, we're kinda short on cash. But you're worth going hungry for, Beryl."

The teen's sparkling blue eyes lit up. She'd never felt like she was worth anybody's time before, much less their meals. Somehow, that cheap necklace with the laurel-leaf charm made all the difference. As the young couple's travel companions hollered for them to get down or ride the van up there, Beryl threw her arms around Ricky's neck and kissed him in that exaggerated movie-star way. She didn't even mind the beard. In fact, she kind of liked it.

Six months later and Ricky wasn't buying gifts for his girlfriend anymore. The past few months had been hard for him. Beryl had gotten an agent and appeared in a few commercials. Meanwhile, Ricky was living out of his van. The young actress' agent, a man named Hank, let Beryl live in his apartment. Her boyfriend hadn't approved of this arrangement, but the blue-eyed teen went ahead with it. "You are not my father," she'd hissed at Ricky. "I don't have to live in a van. So I won't."

"Look, Beryl," Ricky had pleaded, "I'm telling you I don't trust that man."

"You mean you don't trust me? Hank is perfectly decent and trustworthy," Beryl said, trying not to shout.

At this, the young man looked away. He sighed heavily and began, "To be perfectly honest, no. I don't trust you, babe."

The young blond was stunned. Ricky had every reason not to trust her, of course. She was cheating on him with Hank, who was married. The promise of being loved so much that a man would risk his entire marriage for her... Well, it was such a romantic sacrifice. Beryl believed in her agent. She was devoted to him. And Hank was much better off than Denise's brother; he'd already bought her several pairs of gold earrings. What surprised Beryl was that her acting skills weren't good enough for her bearded boyfriend.

"I don't know if you love me," continued Ricky. "I don't know if you've ever loved me."

The young Miss Grace wasn't one to give up. She went into full actress mode, bursting into tears. Her beautiful blue eyes locked onto the now-helpless young man. "Of course I love you. I left my family, my home, everything that I ever knew," cried Beryl, sniffling. "Just to be with you, Ricky." She rushed forwards and embraced her fool. "How could you ever doubt me," the girl whispered into his shoulder, voice shaking with sadness.

Ricky hugged the actress back. He immediately regretted what he'd said. He couldn't see Beryl's triumphant smirk. They only stayed together for about two years in total. One day, Ricky and his van were nowhere to be found. That shouldn't have hurt Beryl as much as it did; she was sad for weeks afterward. Even though she had Hank and a path to stardom, Ricky had been her first real relationship. She resented him for leaving so abruptly, as if she didn't matter to him at all. It was 1983 and Beryl Grace had advanced to bit parts in TV shows. After losing Ricky, she wanted fame more than ever. She wanted her ex-boyfriend to see her face everywhere and regret leaving her. That was the year she started trying publicity stunts.


	3. Chapter 3

The little sister. The girl-next-door. The innocent one. Those were the kinds of roles young actress Grace had been cast in so far. It was certainly how the producers and casting directors saw her; Beryl hadn't been offered any roles outside of that description. The teen auditioned for a variety of parts, but anything that wasn't utterly goody-two-shoes "didn't seem to fit," they'd tell her. So when Hank told Beryl Grace that he was invited to an MGM executive's party, she saw it as the golden opportunity she'd been waiting for. "I'll be your date," she informed him, pulling her hair back into a bun. It was about seven o'clock in the morning and the actress was sitting up in bed, already in a business-like frame of mind as her agent sipped coffee, leaning against the door frame. A half-smile played about Hank's lips, as if the blonde's assertiveness was a joke. But the man didn't offer any resistance to her idea; in fact, he'd almost suggested the same thing. Beryl spoke again: "It's next Saturday, you said?"

"Yeah, Bee," he told her. "You sure you'll be all right, going to such a fancy shindig for your first big-city event?"

"Baby, you know I will," she replied. "And besides, you did have some friends over that one time..."

Hank shook his head. "This'll be different," he cautioned. "A few members of the press will be there. Nothing disruptive, just a few."

 _Paparazzi_ , Beryl thought to herself. _Even better. I'll give them something to write about_. "Like I said, Hank," yawned the blond, reaching her arms above her head in a stretch. "I'll be fine. In fact," she added, "I'll knock 'em dead."

On the Saturday of the event, Beryl Grace was wearing a bright blue dress shirt with very-fashionable shoulder pads in it and a long, form-fitting skirt. Her shining golden hair exploded outwards from her head in an impressive mass of fluff, making it unlikely that anyone would see her sapphire earrings. Hank went more traditional, decked out in a black suit and tie. When they drove up to the car-lined street in Beverly Hills, it occurred to Beryl that her agent could be mistaken for her butler. The thought made a guilty smile flash across her face. Somebody opened the car door for the young actress, who found herself thinking of her old dress-up sessions as a child. _It's not pretend anymore_ , thought Beryl, high heels clicking on the pavement. _I'm living my dream._

One hour later, Beryl's delicate features were creased with worry. Hank had spoken to a producer about upcoming roles in their show. The producer, Eugene, mentioned needing at least two female extras. One would play a seductive woman; the other would be a pretty young girl. Hank carried this information to Beryl and asked "Are you interested in either part?"

"Hell yes," said the actress, eyes sparkling. "That show is iconic, right? I'll be a part of something that shows up in history books."

"It's only a remake of the iconic show you're thinking of," stated Hank.

"Hey. Close enough," Beryl said. She fidgeted in her itchy shirt. "Plus, 'seductress' is exactly the kind of role that I need to change my image."

"Talk to him, then," her agent said absentmindedly. "Let him know that you exist and that you're the right choice."

Eugene was on the other side of the person-choked room. Beryl tried to make her way over to him. Then she tried again. And again. Each time, he was either talking to somebody or people blocked her way. She didn't get near him until all of the guests were seated for dinner. The producer was on the opposite side of the table and was a few seats over. Another young actress was sitting on his lap, talking and giggling. "He's considering her for the part," grumbled Hank, sitting down next to Beryl. "Why didn't you go talk to him sooner?"

"I couldn't get to him without punching anyone," hissed the blond. "And it wouldn't exactly be civil to punch people, now, would it?" Hank's only response was more grumbling. The dinner party went on and Beryl desperately kept trying to insert herself into Eugene's conversation. Eventually, she met some success. "I heard you're in need of a sexy lady for an upcoming part," she said. "I'd be perfect for that role."

The grey-haired producer finished chewing his food and said "I'm also in need of a childlike young girl. Maybe you'd prefer that role?"

Beryl bit back her anger. The other young actress' eyes flashed at Beryl triumphantly. Miss Grace tried again: "Is the other role taken?"

"Not exactly," the producer mumbled through a mouthful of beef and potatoes. He swallowed. "I just can't picture you playing a seductress, Grace."

Before the irritated blue-eyed actress could keep talking, a butler called out from the hallway: "Who's ready for the next course?"

Every guest's head swiveled towards the butler. A few raised their hands. _No_ , thought Beryl. _I can't lose his attention now_. A crazy idea popped into her head. The teen stood up. A couple of guests looked at her, but Eugene's eyes were still glued to the coming food.

"HEY," Beryl shouted to the producer. She used his last name: "I'm talking to you, RODDENBERRY."

Now all eyes were on her, even Eugene's. Luckily, Beryl Grace was not without a plan. She grabbed her own bright blue collar and ripped her shirt off. Tossing the ruined garment over the producer's head, the actress spoke: "How's this for a seductress?"

She hadn't worn any sort of bra that night; they weren't considered necessary in the eighties. A stunned photographer reflexively took a picture of her bare breasts. _This is definitely something they'll write about_ , Beryl thought. The guests were a mixture of shocked stares and scandalized looking-away.

Ladies and gentlemen, stupid stunt number one.


	4. Chapter 4

"So? What did they say," questioned Beryl. Hank crossed his arms and replied, "Half of them want to hire you. The other half wants to cease all contact with you." The two were back at Hank's apartment, the day after the party. For the first time since impulsively ripping her shirt off, Beryl was worried about the consequences. It hit her that she might've gone too far. However, the actress' worry didn't last long. That afternoon, Hank got a call from Eugene. The ecstatic agent appeared in Beryl's doorway once more, saying "You got the part. Eugene's on the phone, Beryl, you got the part." A grin lit up the girl's face. Her stunt had paid off.

Half an hour later, the couple was caught up in celebration. They were chatting about the actress' future. The conversation wandered. "I don't want to be as strict as my parents were," mused a slightly-drunk Beryl Grace. She tapped her fingers against her wineglass. "You'll be a hippie parent, eh Bee," slurred Hank from the couch behind her. The blond turned around to face the disheveled man and immediately had to steady herself against a chair. "I, um" started Beryl. "I mean, I would give my kids some discipline," she said, struggling to keep the thought in her head. "I don't... Um..." the actress giggled, distracted by the unfocused look on Hank's face. Beryl's lover motioned for her to sit next to him. Picking her way through piles of stuff on the floor, she gasped and declared "Oh! I wanted to say that I do believe in discipline." The young beauty plunked herself down next to Hank, sinking into the couch's soft quilting.

"The only valuable thing those bastards ever gave me," Beryl mumbled into her wineglass, "is my work ethic." Beside her, the man bobbed his head, as if in understanding. "I want my children to be workers hard," Hank said, blinking sleepily. The blond frowned questioningly and asked "What?"

Hank only nodded more. "They'll really know how to strive," he continued. "Like you, Gracie. You're a fine dame." Holding her glass aloft, Beryl snuggled up to the rambling man, who lifted his arm to accommodate her. "They're only twelve and two, my kids," said Hank, yawning. Sleep overtook the two drinkers soon after that.

The year was 1984. Beryl Grace would soon turn nineteen. She'd gotten to know people in her line of work, from producers to directors and fellow actors. There were a few actors in particular that she viewed as rivals, though the "rivals" often didn't know of it themselves. One of these actors was named Margaret Castellan. They often bumped into each other at red carpet events and auditions. When Margaret started starring in a TV show and became better known, reporters took an interest in what Beryl had to say about her.

"Margaret and I have been feuding for months now," the young actress had sighed. The reporter perked up at this and began taking notes. "She keeps trying to steal my look," Beryl continued, "and she definitely stole my last boyfriend. Do you know that he committed suicide after that?"

That wasn't exactly true, of course, but nobody could find Ricky to confirm it. The young blond wasn't afraid to add a few half-truths to her story. Hank approved of this; he even suggested a couple of things to make the story juicier. "People will know your name, Beryl Grace," her agent had assured her. Soon, the "feud" escalated. The two actresses had nothing good to say about each other, reported one tabloid. They were sabotaging each other's outfits, reported another. Privately, Margaret begged Beryl to stop. But she didn't stop; after all, it was just business. Just another publicity stunt. Margaret tried feeding the reporters information of her own. Her rival managed to twist every word.

It didn't stop until late that year, when an actor was killed in a car crash. Suddenly, all the tabloid space that had been devoted to Beryl's feud was dedicated to churning and re-churning out details about the crash. The young actress was frustrated that all her hard work could disappear at a moment's notice. _There has to be some way to get back into the spotlight_ , she thought. One week later, on a cold October day, that way was delivered to her. Ironically enough, Ricky actually had committed suicide. Beryl only found out when one of her old friends drove his van to Hank's apartment. She was told that the van had been left to Beryl in Ricky's will.

The young actress was in shock. Ricky - sweet, well-meaning Ricky - was gone forever. She wanted to know where he'd been, what made him kill himself, and if he'd been with another girl when he died. Beryl's friend only knew so much. A tiny voice in the back of Beryl's mind was left wondering: _could I have saved him if we'd been together?_ There was no way to know. Up late one night, crying, the actress decided she knew what Ricky would've wanted. Beryl Grace decided on her next stunt.

First, the blond put on makeup as if preparing for an event. Then she took most of the pillows and bedding out of Hank's apartment, grateful that her lover was with his family for the night. At two in the morning, Beryl haphazardly drove herself to a Paramount back lot, where she borrowed a helmet and stuntman's padding. Once everything was set up, she drove onto the freeway.

Beryl's eyes were blurred with tears. There weren't a lot of other cars on the freeway at that time of night. Up ahead, the actress saw a limo. She pushed her foot down on the gas pedal and went towards it, full speed. As Beryl closed in, two other cars pulled onto the road behind the limo. Perfect.

Pushing the van at its top speed, Beryl rushed ahead of the limo. Then, making a sharp right turn, she blocked its path. The limo slammed its brakes, but it was too late. An impact shook Beryl's van as metal crunched into metal. She heard more brakes screaming from outside and another impact jolted through the crash. The young actress pulled off her stunt vest gingerly – her arm hurt like hell – and tried to fix her helmet-hair through the pain. Muffled shouts reached her from outside. _Is my mascara okay_ , Beryl fretted. After all, she had to look good when the press arrived.


End file.
